Crimson Lagoon: Another Day in the Life of a Mercenary
by Blade8821
Summary: YES! The rewrite has continued, chapters 1 and 2 are now complete. To fans of deadpan humor, hilarious situations, and of course, the action and adrenaline that is Black Lagoon, look no further! Prepare to laugh till your cheeks burn, my friends. ...Yes, I still suck at summaries. Please read and review if you enjoy my crude attempts at humor. Who else loves Spellchecker?
1. Chapter 0 Woohoo, rewrite has started

**The Crimson Lagoon**

**Guess Who's Back?**

My standard form of writing applies.

" " - Spoken

' ' - Thought

( ) - Commentary. I'm a smartass. You should know what goes here. My smartass commentary. Usually funny, always interesting.

_Italics- _Usually things of importence. Flashbacks and certain things are in italics to seperate them from the rest of the story.

**Bold!- **Things like **this** are things that just stand out. Usually pretty badass.

Underlined words are oddball parts; this is for generic seperation of a variety of things. Lyrics, notes, other languages, sign language, ect.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

#1 Mwahahahahaha! I'm baaaack! **REDONE! And RE-UP'D! 3/15/13!**

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

...On a cold, dark, and stormy night...

...

...Yeah, right. It was hot as fuck. And humid as fuck. And goddamn... Ugh. Horrible food. And don't even get me started on the smell... But at least it was free.

Inside of a good-sized fishing boat, are roughly twenty or so people... Huddled about and sitting around, waiting. Among them, was a young man.

He was sitting in a corner near the door, with nothing but the clothes on his back. He's wearing black cargo pants, combat boots, a skintight black T-shirt, and a jet-black leather jacket. (How he wore that thing in this heat... Ugh... He's not human)

Around his neck is what looks like a collar, made of some ebony material, a large three-link chain hanging from the front. His hangs are gloved, again black. The color of his clothes contrasts his cream-colored skin. (He has a thing for black... Huh. Either he's a badass or a gay stripper)

...As we observe, he reaches up and runs a hand over his buzzcut brunette hair, letting out a heavy sigh as the boat rolls back and forth. He pulls his left sleeve up, glancing at a steel watch. It was 6:14 AM.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

...We're going to skip the two hours of waiting. After that... The boat stops. We hear the engines cut off, and within a moment, the door to the cargo hold opens. In steps a burly man with a salt-crusted beard.

"Hoy! We're here. Grab yer shit an' get tha fuck offa my boat." Everyone in the hold starts getting up, stretching, and gathering possessions.

The man we were earlier observing is already up and moving, going through the door. It might be just our imaginations, but he seems to have a slight smile...

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

We folow him out and up a short flight of stairs, through a hall, and out another door. He now stands on the deck of a fishing boat, as he takes a deep breath.

He starts walking, towards a gangplank that goes off the boat and onto the dock. As he steps off, he turns towards the captain of the vessel.

"Thanks for the lift, cap'n." The burly bearded man harrumphs in response. Our protagonist shakes his head with a smile as he starts off, walking along the dock and towards the city, his bag strapped to his back. The slight smile never falters as he lets out a small chuckle.

"So this is Roanapur... Didja miss me?"

And so... Roy walks onward, heading for the city of sin.

...Wonder how bad he's gonna fuck up this time...

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

On and on I walked, following the streets of sin city. I didn't have a clue as to where the office was, so I started asking around...

I spied a man who looked like he enjoyed a spot of drink every other night, so I jogged up to him.

"Oy, mate. You know where I could find the Yellow Flag?" He gave me a look.

"The Flag? Yah, s'up thatta way, head up five streets and hang a left."

"Thanks, mate."

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

...Well, thirty minutes later... I was standing outside of a rather odd-looking dive with a great big gaudy neon sign. With a chuckle, I pushed the doors open, stepping inside.

Standing behind the bar, drying off a beer glass, was a thin-looking man of asian descent, with a thin moustache and thinner hair. He looked the type to have absolutely no patience, especially not for damage to his bar. Heheh.

I walked right up to the bar, when he looked up at me.

"Yeah? Whattaya want?"

"Directions. Y'know where I can find the Lagoon Company's office?"

He gave a start. Then his expression shifted, becoming a neutral mask of false nonchalance. "Lagoon? Whatcha lookin for them for?"

"Need to speak with Dutch. S'all you need to know. Say, how many times has Revy destroyed your bar?"

He raised an eyebrow, before giving detailed directions on how to get there on foot, all while avoiding the worst areas.

"And that bitch has fuckin' wrecked it nearly half a dozen times now! Fuckin' insurance is murder..."

I gave him my thanks, (Along with a sympathetic chuckle) and left. I distinctly remember seeing him nonchalantly picking up the phone while I was on my way out...

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

It didn't take too long. Maybe forty minutes or so. I found myself standing outside an apartment building, which had a small sign hanging near the doorway.

Lagoon Company Offices.

Huh. Ah, well. I walked through, and started up the stairs. Each one was solid, not even a squeek.

Not a sound was heard as I ascended. Probably due to my training... It made walking soundlessly a force of habit, even in boots. By rolling your feet as you walk, you bounce less and distribute your weight more efficiently, not making those loud clomping sounds. It's also good for keeping your point of aim more consistant when moving, so your sights are perfectly aligned.

For a 180-pound man, this was pretty damn impressive, especially since I was wearing boots.

Anyway... I've rambled long enough. After walking up the stairs and down a short hallway, I found the door I was looking for. I gave three short knocks, and waited...

Five seconds later, I could hear a gruff voice from the other side.

"_Come in, it's unlocked._"

I turned the knob and stepped through, the cool air inside quite refreshing. A large, burly, bald african american man was sitting on a couch, reading a newspaper, a mug of coffee in his other hand. He wore an olive drab flak jacket, an old relic of the Vietnam war...

And a vintage pair of sunglasses, BDU pants, combat boots, along with a leather holster on his side. I noticed a revolver inside said holster... A S&W 629, if I wasn't mistaken.

I took all that in in under a second. Just to keep things in perspective.

"Can I help you?" He looked up from his paper, calmly observing me from behind his shades.

'_Cold as ice..._' I gave a dry mental chuckle, keeping my features steady.

"Probably. You're Dutch, I presume?" He gave a curt nod.

"Mm-hm. I heard you've been looking for me. Something important?" He was still unreadable... His expression never changed, and I couldn't see his eyes.

"Huh. So Bao called ahead? Well, frankly, I'm looking for work. I heard you run a delivery business."

"I do. Now what makes you think I need another crewman?"

"Now before I answer that, do you know a guy by the name Benny?" The first change of his expression I've yet to see occurred. He quirked an eyebrow.

" 'Benny?' Nope. Can't say I do." I smiled.

"Well, if my guess is right, then you've only got a trigger-happy half-psycho gunman to help with that PT boat of yours. Might you need an extra pair of hands?" I... Think I saw him blink. And a ghost of a smile.

"You're right on that. But she gets the job done. So what qualifies you as a sailor?"

"Well, I've had military training as a DM and point-man. My brief career as a freelance soldier got me the knowledge and skills needed, but left me a little light of wallet wth a target on my back." (DM is Designated Marksman. Uses a long-range battle rifle for ranges longer than that of a standard rifleman, 10-300 metres)

"Soldier? You look a little young to be a mercenary. Just how old are you? Twenty?"

"Close. Seventeen. I lied when I joined up at fifteen, and since they needed all the guys they could get, I got shipped over. Made a bit of a name for myself with some of the higher-ups, got me noticed. Blackwater picked up my contract after six months' work."

"Blackwater, huh? Heard they're a big name in the private sector these days. So why're you here instead of working for them?" He took another drag from his mug, his eyes never straying from me.

"Eheh... That's a complicated story. Long and the short of it, I did my job far better than necessary, and learned some things I shouldn't have. After that, I stuck my nose in too deep, and it came back to bite my ass. Heard I could make good money working outside the states, and I could stay under Uncle Sam's radar. Sounded like a win-win to me."

His expression remained neutral, but I could feel his gaze on me... Sizing me up. Scanning my expression for traces of deception, observing my body, examining my stance, posture... Musculature, visible scars, as well as searching for the telltale bulges of hidden weapons. He took notice of the knife on the back of my belt, as well as the likelihood of having a weapon under my jacket. He knew.

"...Huh. I'll consider it. You familiar with the tools of the trade?"

"Meaning, firearms? Everything. If it has a trigger, ammo, and a barrel, I can use it. I know the manual of arms for everything from the AK to Vltor. All modern smallarms and most military vehicles. I'm shit as a driver, but when it comes to getting us there in one piece... I can get it done. Well, Leigharch might be the best, but he's so high on reefer he doesn't know his arse from his elbow. However...

Guns aren't my specialty. My abilities really shine in close combat. As you can probably tell, (Here I removed my jacket, and indicated my knife, as well at the scars covering my arms) I have a penchant for CQC. This right here, (I tapped my custom tanto, which was tacked to my shoulder holster) is my weapon of choice."

"So you're an up-close-and-personal kinda guy..." I shrugged at his comment.

"Kinda have to be. I spent those first six months working with some of the high-end unconventional warfare groups. That's how I got, ah, noticed; by getting my dumb ass suckered into getting volunteered to being their replacement point-man. The guy had the shits, and I was in the tent at the time they were about to disembark. Least I learned a lot from it." (Look up what 'the shits' are. It's not just diarrhea. It's a completely different infection... And it's much, much worse)

He chuckled a bit at my mention of the shits, then asked me, "There anything else you're good at, besides killing folks?"

"I've had a good bit of psychology classes, helped out with the psyche warfare division. Not much of a people person, but I got a feel for when people are bullshitting me. Should come in handy for this part of the world. Beyond that, I'm not half bad as a negotiator, tactician, and I know too damn much for my own good."

"Oh? What do you mean by that?" Something changed... Couldn't tell what. Hmm...

"Hm... You work for both Balalaika, and Chang, and have a good working relationship with both of them. Balalaika owes you for saving her life before... Am I right?" He nodded.

"You're well-informed..."

"Exceptionally so. You're supposed to be a vietnam vet, right?"

"Yeah. What of it?" Aha! His tone changed ever so slightly... More guarded.

"Hm. Last I checked... That story doesn't check out. But I couldn't find any more than that. Odd... For a big guy, you disappear pretty damn quick, Mr. Houdini. Not that it's any of my business."

I could tell, his eyes narrowed. "You're right... You do know too much for your own good. Just how did you come to that conclusion?" He replaced his coffee cup on the table, leaving his free hand near his lap. ...And his gun.

"I'm very observant... For example. Seeing as how today's Monday, your coworker was likely drinking late last night, and will show up late today. As for how I know about you... There are a few little tell-tale signs, but nothing someone will pick up on. Not unless they're really looking for it, and have sources inside the military. Say, were you ever on burner duty?"

He gave me an odd look. "...Burner duty? Not that I'm aware of." ...He doesn't know. Heheheheheh, well, he definately wasn't a veteran of Vietnam, alright. Oh, and burner duty is the poor dumb bastard who had to burn shit. No, litterally, shit. They had to empty the latrines and burn the shit, to prevent the VC from using it as fertilizer to grow food.

...Kinda messed up, seeing as they wouldn't even sell it to the vietnamese people, either, considering that american shit was worth money over there. It was very rich in nutrients, and made excellant manuere.

"Hm. Alright, how about this; Balalaika is a nickname for the Dragonuv rifle. She was likely a sniper during her time in the Russian military. Now for Chang... He wears a black trench coat over a suit, and uses a pair of 1911's. I'd wager he's a fan of John Woo. So? Care to bet on any of those?"

(All of those can be derived from the manga, if you've read into it enough, except the bit about shit-burning. That comes from knowing someone...)

He was outwardly calm... But I could hear the gears turning in his head.

"...Not particularly. The odds seem to be stacked in your favor... But the first one is pretty damn obvious."

"I'll grant you that. Say, if you're still unsure, why don't you call Balalaika and ask what her MOS was? If nothing else, it'll be entertaining. Hell, she might have a job."

He snorted a laugh. "I'll pass. So assuming you actually know what you're doing... If there anything else I should know?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm also looking for someone. A woman of latin descent with dark hair, usually wears an odd french maid outfit and thick glasses."

He blinked. I could feel it. "...A maid outfit?" I nodded enthusiasticly.

"Yep. She's more than a little odd, but she's also the deadliest killer I know of."

"...You're shittin' me, aren'tcha?" He deadpanned. Not saying much, since he's almost always deadpanning.

"Not at all. She makes Schwarzenegger look like a pushover. A fuckin' terminator that says, _'Please remain still, good fellows, for I must whack you now.' _or, _'Please forgive me, for I may have to be rude to you.'_ And she'll say shit like that just before pulling out a SPAS-12 disguised as an umbrella. You think Revy or Chang are dangerous? This girl was known as the Bloodhound of Florencia."

He gave a start. "The Bloodhound? Now I know you're just fuckin' with me. Wasn't she some kinda one-woman army for FARC?"

I nodded. "Yeah. She went AWOL from them some time ago. I wouldn't worry about it, she doesn't have a reason to go on a killing spree. At least, I hope not. I just need to chat her up about something is all."

He scoffed. "That's what most assassins say when they're looking for their mark."

"Really? I'd think they would be a bit smarter than that..." Just then, we both heard heavy footsteps clomping outside the room.

"...I take it that's-" *Sla-BANG!* I turned towards the door that was just thrown open.

"...Revy." As the door swung shut, she looked over at me.

"...Huh? The fuck're you?"

Dutch replied before I could. "He's our newest crewman. His name's..." He stopped in his tracks, and I could hear his neck creaking as it turned towards me.

"...Just what is your name?"

I facepalmed, as did Revy. "You're gonna hire the guy and you don't even know who he is? Dutch, you goin' senile or somethin'?"

With a dry chuckle, I informed them before this turned into even more of a farce. "Name's Roy, but most people called me either Red or Blade."

"Blade? Hah! That's too badass-sounding for some chump like you. What, you cut yourself when you were a kid?" Revy's sneering insults were... Less than appreciated. She looked the same as ever, black tank top and daisy dukes with unlaced combat boots. A rig with two custom Berettas graced her shoulders, and her hair was shorter than I remembered. Cut to being a bit above her shoulders.

"No, I got it from my preference for close combat." I smiled, despite my growing ire.

"Riiight... You probably made those yourself." Sneer still in place, she ambled past and went straight to the fridge.

"Hm. Dutch, do you mind a small demonstration?" His ears perked up at that. Before he gave a wicked grin... One that looked positively macabre.

"Go ahead... But nothing permanent. I need her in one piece."

"Huh? The fuck're y'all talking about?" She returned from the fridge, beer in hand. I simply grinned.

"Revy, how fast can you draw those gaudy guns?" She practically vibrated with excitement.

"You really wanna find out?"

Cue smile-head-tilt. She was maybe eight feet from me... "Sure. If you can actually shoot me, I'll be impressed." I could feel my heart starting to pound, my temples throbbed.

Ooh, this was gonna be fun...

She tossed her beer to Dutch, who caught it effortlessly. She then turned towards me, and stood with this evil little grin. Seven and a halt feet between us... Can I make that...?

'_Hell yeah!_'

"Whenever you're ready, Rebecca." Her eye twitched, slightly annoyed that I knew her name, I suppose. I shifted slightly, having tossed my jacket onto the nearby recliner. I waited, my heart racing, adrenaline started to flow...

...I saw it. Just the slightest twinge in her right hand. Muscles tensing, tendons tightening.

I dashed forward, her arms already in motion. My hand snaked back, gripping my knife and undoing the snap in one motion.

'_Three feet... One and a half..._'

I was on her. My right arm coming up, my left lashing out and grabbing her crossed forearms, using my larger hands to pin them in place. The moment I knew she couldn't draw, and I saw her eyes snap open, I knew I had her. Everything had slowed down, become diluted...

...But it sped right back up once my knife was touching her bellybutton. I was panting slightly, a side effect of abusing my little... 'Gift.'

"...Seems I'm just a bit faster than you. Revy, what is the most deadly weapon within twenty-one feet?" Her eyes narrowed into slits, her shocked expression turning into a snarl.

"Get offa me!" She practically growled, probably because I started lifting her up by her forearms. I leaned a little closer, and tugged down the collar I wore, letting her get a full view of the scar across my neck.

"Remember this, Rebecca. Any enemy within twenty feet can kill you before you even have a chance to draw those cutlasses. Chang himself, and even Balalaika will tell you that an enemy with a knife is to be given a wide berth. And just so you know, I got this one from killing a man with my bare hands when he had a knife. You might not be so lucky." I released her arms, stepping back and pulling my collar back into place.

I turned expectantly towards Dutch. Despite his sunglasses, I could see his eyes were wide open. I smiled.

"Dutch, I hope this proves I'm not talking outta my ass."

"It does... I suppose I could use another hand on the Lagoon." He stood up, approaching. I kept an eye on Revy, who was fuming. I did not want to get punched in the face today...

He walked over, handed Revy her beer, which seemed to calm her down somewhat as she popped the top, before he stuck his hand out.

I took it, shaking his hand to seal our deal. So now... I'm a member of the Lagoon Company.

"So boss, what's our first-" *Ringadingdingding!* I was cut off by the phone. Oh? A job already? Sweet.

Dutch turned and walked over, picking up the reciever on the second ring.

"Lagoon company. Yeah?... Uh-huh. Got it. We'll be right over."

...I wonder what this one's about...

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_**Ookie-day, explanation time! Same Character from Waking Death; Roy. Professional Badass. He's from the same time, and has seen the anime/read the manga completely. (So far. We're waaaiiiting... Bastards need to get back to working on BL. We miss Revy!)**_

_**Instead of just being randomly dropped in some timeline he had no fucking clue about, this time, he chose to go where he did. He willingly went to Roanapur. And...**_

_**He's younger. This takes place before his little trip into the RE-verse. **_

_**This series begins roughly 1-2 months before Benny is hired to the Lagoon. **_

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_**Note; I will be including a few guns from this day and age that wouldn't have been back in the 90's. This is so I don't have to spend more time nitpicking over optics, firearms, and other such. Also, because two of my favorite weapons didn't come out until just recently, so fuck you, I do what I want. My story, my shit, not my series. **_

_**(Black Lagoon is owned by Rei Hiroe, not me. Fun fact; BL is one of the few anime that is perfectly voiced in english, and sounds like it was originally meant/made for english dub)**_

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_**Awwright. This SHOULD, I repeat, SHOULD, be the last time I include Roy in a fic as the main character. No promises, but I hate overusing a character. Plus he's charging me overtime for keeping him away from Rebecca. (The other one. You know, the cute one)**_

_**No, in this, he has never been in the RE universe. He is not inhuman, nor does he have any abilities other than those ingrained from his time in the DOG program. **_

_**The weapons he has; **_

_**-His knife, of course. Both of them. A Gil Hibben Assault sub-hilt, and his custom tanto; a 14.5-inch long, nearly half-inch thick, single piece of solid steel with blood-red paracord-wrapped around the hilt. It was his personal knife, given to him when he was indoctrinated as a Wolf. Razor sharp with heavy serrations on the back, it is the end-all knife made to outlast everything else... Including its owner.**_

_**-A Wilson Combat custom 1911 w/taclight in his shoulder holster, accompanied by four spare 8-round mags in the bandolier on the other side. The holster also has a pouch containing a six-inch shorty sound suppressor.**_

_**This weapon was the personal sidearm of his old friend Sarah, the last gift she ever gave him. He took it with him, as it was the only weapon he had; otherwise, he'd've been facing an army with nothing more. He chose to retreat, and figure out what he would do later on... **_

_**As a weapon, it didn't look like much. Had a rail and a threaded barrel, a few other bells and whistles, but looked fairly basic to the untrained eye. **_

_**The words, "**__For the sins of the father, on the blood of the son, for the blood on my hands..." __**are engraved on the left side of the slide, in elegant script. It was the favorite phrase of Sarah... And became his own creed.**_

_**Ahem... Gun porn aside, that's his starting arsenal. Along with his ever-present bulletproof protective cup, his wits, and a good dose of lead. Who needs luck when you've got all that? **_

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_**Thaaaat... Is all for the rewrite, he's younger, more crass and sarcastic, slightly less badass than before, seeing as he's less experienced, and more playful. Yes, he will make more funny, crude jokes at others' expense.**_


	2. Chapter 2 REWRITE DONE!

**The Crimson Lagoon**

**Guess Who's Back?**

My standard form of writing applies.

" " - Spoken

' ' - Thought

( ) - Commentary. I'm a smartass. You should know what goes here. My smartass commentary. Usually funny, always interesting.

_Italics- _Usually things of importence. Flashbacks and certain things are in italics to seperate them from the rest of the story.

**Bold!- **Things like **this** are things that just stand out. Usually pretty badass.

Underlined words are oddball parts; this is for generic seperation of a variety of things. Lyrics, notes, other languages, sign language, ect.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

#2 Wham-bam, thank you ma'am! Here we go again!

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

"Lagoon company. Yeah?... Uh-huh. Got it. We'll be right over." Dutch hung up the phone, turning around as he did so.

"Who was that?" Revy asked, not me. Since downing half her beer, she only seemed to have a slightly simmering desire to murder me... Not a boiling rage, I suppose, but I still wouldn't put my back to her.

"Balalaika. Seems you invoked Murphey's Law, new guy." I chuckled.

"Heh. Guess we get a chance to ask her in person, ne? So, she say what kinda job it is?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Nope."

Revy cut in. "She didn't say what she wanted us for? Great. That's not a good sign."

I reached behind me, double-checking my bag, as well as the gear on my belt.

As I fondled the grenades I'd managed to con out of Sean, I thought to myself,

_'Hmm... I've only got three of these things, so I'd better be careful... Doubt I can get more anytime soon.'_

After double-checking the tape on the pins, and that my knives were in place, I rolled my shoulders as Dutch and Revy lead the way out, on our first job as a three-man team.

...Lovely.

"On the road again..." I chortled, smirking to myself.

Despite her earlier annoyance, Revy snorted a laugh. Great... We've got ourselves a comedian."

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

Just as we were leaving, Revy asked me, "Why're you carrying around frags, anyway? Those had to be hell to get through customs." Hm? She noticed? Good eyes.

I gave a dry chuckle as we descended the stairs. (I had made sure Revy was in front of me. 'Ladies first' was my line, of course. I'm a real cheesy bastard)

"They aren't frags. M67's are baseball shaped, remember?" She cut in.

"I know that! I've probably used more than you. Just wondering why you're bringin' em'. And if they aren't frags..." We walked outside, back into the blistering heat... Ugh...

"They're actually high explosive." She stopped dead in her tracks. I nearly walked into her.

"Wait, what?!" She spun in place, staring at me. Dutch himself turned around, giving me a look.

"HE?" Dutch rumbled, sounding oddly curious.

"Yeah. Anti-vehicle, anti-personnel. Instead of high-velocity shrapnel, it sends white-hot liquid metal out to thiry metres or so. Kill radius is about eight metres, with wounding out to twenty. Inadvisable to use them indoors, though. Collateral damage and all that. They're not quite as destructive as incindiary grenades, but at least they won't blow up or fry your ass if they get hit with a stray bullet. I think they were designed to be an anti-tank grenade for special forces, or something."

Revy's eyes were wide, and she was practically bouncing, very elated at finding out I carried handheld death-dealers. "You've gotta tell me where to get some of those!"

"...Ookay... But I'll tell you right now, they're more than triple the cost of frags. Cheaper than RPG's, but still." I shrugged. I had got them from a buddy who did custom R&D work for the gov't. The guy was crazy smart... And very dedicated to creating new and fascinating ways to kill people.

Dutch shook his head, a slight smile on his normally unreadable features.

_'So he's going to win Revy over with their mutual love of blowing shit up...'_

We started walking again, myself following Dutch and Revy to wherever they had the car parked. "So just where'd you get those? I've never heard of handheld anti-tank grenades."

"I got a buddy who works for R&D at DARPA. He's completely nuts, but also wicked at coming up with new and fascinating ways of killin' folks. His original idea was to load the things with mercury, but that got shot down by the Geneva convention."

"...Well it sounds like he's a riot at parties." I chuckled at her comment, imagining Sean at an office party...

"...Yeah... He doesn't get invited to very many of them. Wonder why... He's funny as hell." My dry comment was met with an odd look.

"...Don't suppose you mean 'funny' as in dead-baby humor?" I blinked.

"Actually, that was one of his funnier jokes. He's a damn good ventrioquist, too, apparently," I snarked, hoping she'd pick up on that.

She did, after a moment.

"Pf, hahahahahahaha! No wonder he's unpopular!"

"Yeah. the worst part was that he brought an actual dead baby. And thaaat's how he got kicked out of the comedy club... People are too sensitive, these days, I tell ya." I heard Dutch chuckle ahead of us, before rounding a corner that lead to a small parking lot.

"Well, we're here, chuckles." Dutch called back, just as Revy bounded ahead of us.

"Shotgun!"

I stood there for a moment. Then shrugged. "Eh."

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

We were in the GTO, myself in back, Dutch driving, and Revy up front.

"So Roy... Blade's pretty self-explanatory, but how'd you get the nickname Red?" Dutch called back, speaking over the sound made when driving with the windows down. Revy lit up a cigarette, having pulled one from the glovebox.

"Long story. 'Red' is just short for Red Death. I was on bodyguard duty for more than a year when I was a PMC, and I always wore a blood red shegmagh around my neck. Our subject was always targeted by one extremist group or another, and I got a bit of a reputation. My unit's crowning moment of badass was when we were under seige for over a week. I was on overwatch the entire time, shooting anyone who came near with a weapon. I don't know what my exact kill count was, but I'd wager it was over ninety-some-odd confirmed throughout that week.

As you know, when people see someone with a very distinct calling card or feature, word spreads like wildfire. Just look at Carlos Hathcock. After that incident, whenever I walked about outside, I could hear civvies saying 'crimson slayer' whenever I was in sight. Then they would scramble the hell away. I learned to do the same whenever the pedestrians started fleeing the streets. Our VIP said it was a mark of honor, to be known and feared by others. After that, my toadies started calling me Red Death, and it stuck."

"Huh. Sounds like a helluva time."

"Believe me, it was a pain in the ass. Waking up every morning in that heat with sand in my shorts? It sucked great big ol' donkey balls. Least Roanapur doesn't have the bloody sand."

He remained silent as Revy threw her query in. "Who was the VIP?"

"Dumbass politician who died 'bout half a month ago. Abu-sumthinother. Could never pronounce his name... I just called him sir." She turned in her seat, eyebrow raised.

"Wait, that guy who got blown up? Started a whole 'nother war over there?" I nodded. (Sounded about right... I had coordinated my story with what I knew was actually going on and went from there. Another conflict got started recently due to a politician getting killed... Can't remember the name. Eh, not important)

"Yeah... He wanted peace through war. And guess what? The only thing more reliable than symmetry, is irony."

"Eh, whazzat supposed to mean...?" A dry chuckle escaped my lips, unbeckoned.

"It'll make sense when it needs to. Trust me on that."

"If you guys're done, we're here." Dutch pulled the car into a spot on the street, right next to a large office building.

"Huh... Doesn't really scream 'mafia headquarters,' now does it?"

I could just feel Dutch and Revy rolling their eyes.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

We walked through the front doors, entering a cool modern interior. It looked like your average office building...

The receptionist was a man in his late twenties, caucasian, with a blonde buzzcut.

"Yes?" He spoke with a thick russian accent, too...

"Balalaika called for us. Lagoon company." The receptinist nodded, telling us to go right up. I noticed he had a handgun on under his suit jacket...

Hm.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

We walked down a short hall, and went into a stairwell.

"What, no elevator?" Revy snorted, whereas Dutch remained silent.

We walked all the way up to the top (Fourth) floor. After walking through two long hallways, (And passing several men with buzzcuts and suits) we were outside an office with a large, heavy wooden door.

"Say boss, twenty bucks on what I said earlier?" He gave me a look, but said nothing.

Dutch knocked twice, before opening it, walking in. Myself and Revy were right behind him, and I shut the door behind us.

"Ah, hello, Dutch. Oh? I see a new face. Finally hired a good-looking man, hm?" Balalaika was sitting behind a large wooden desk, cigar in hand, a small smile on her scarred features. And I have to say... Despite the scars, she's still rather beautiful... And busty. Heheh. Anyway, she spoke in a heavy russian accent. 'Rusky' describes it pretty accurately.

Boris stood behind her, stock silent. He calmly noted all three of us... And our weapons. Definately a veteran soldier.

"Just hired him this morning. Figured I would break him in by the end of the day."

Her smile widened a little. She turned her gaze to me. "Very new, then. Come and let me have a look at you." I moved around Dutch, and stood just in front of her desk. Still a good three feet from it.

I could feel more than see her eyes on me... Sizing me up like a piece of meat. Clinically, tactically, and threat-measuring. It felt... Right violating, to say the least. She seemed to think me no threat, until she noticed one of my scars from under the sleeve of my jacket...

It was subtle, but she straightened her back just a little, placing her feet flat in case she needed to move away from me quickly. Boris was much easier to pick up on, since he shifted his weight at the same time.

"Hmm... Dutch has hired himself a very handsome soldier. Tell me, what's your name?" I maintained eye contact, smiling.

"I'm flattered. My name is Roy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Pavlovena. You're as ravishing as I've heard." Despite my friendly tone, calm body language, and neutral posture, I saw her eyes shoot wide open, and Boris' hand shifted behind his back. It was difficult... But I refrained from shifting my feet into a combat stance. Difficult to fight habits.

Even more difficult was maintaining eye contact... Her gaze was piercing, and seemed to be looking inside of me... Ooough... Fucking violating, but I reminded myself it was simply a mental psyche-out, and not a mind-reading technique.

"...Just where did you hear that?" Her voice changed, and became cold and hard as granite. After the initial moment of shock, her eyes narrowed, looking at me far more closely. Trying to figure out if I was about to attack. I heard feet shifting behind me, and I figured Dutch was about to piss himself before strangling me.

"The same place I heard everything else. After all, little voices are always followed by big ears. Say, you mind settling a bet for me?" Her eyebrow went up, but aside from that, her expression remained a neutral mask.

"And what would that be?"

"I bet Dutch twenty bucks that you used to be a sniper. Is that true, or should I get out my wallet?" She blinked.

"...I was. Now tell me how you know that." Her tone brokered no arguements.

"I keep an ear to the ground. The US government had an entire cabinet of manilla folders dedicated to knowing everything about you from your background, mafia connections and military service, to your medical history, what you eat and how many times you get up to take a piss each day." I could feel her starting to glower... Glowering is bad. Very, very bad.

"...But I suppose what you really want to know is how I got my hands on that information, ya?"

...Ooh, she was pissed. "What do you think?" I smiled even wider.

"Heh, I'll take that as a yes. If it'll make you feel better, I'm wanted by the US, too. I learned far too much about their dirty dealings, and they wanted to use me for target practice. So, I snuck into my friendly, local neighborhood CIA office in Langley. While I was there, I just happened to pull a fire alarm and go snooping through cabinets until I found the folder with my name on it. Then I started an actual fire and burned it. I came across a cabinet with your name along the way."

"...An entire cabinet?" She raised her eyebrow again.

"Mm-hm. Flattering, isn't it? Now I normally wouldn't have given it a second glance... But an entire cabinet dedicated to one person? And it wasn't a name I recognised, either. So I took a quick glance, pulled a few of the more interesting folders and beat feet after dropping some matches inside. Now, it was the CIA, so I wasn't surprised to find out they spent a gratuitous amount of tax dollars on pointless projects, but damn...

They spent fifty grand to pump four septic tanks, and test their contents to find a match to your genetic signature, before testing that to find out whether or not you use any narcotics. Again, I was not surprised to learn this. Hell, I'm an American taxpayer. I know what stupid things they waste my money on. But that was before I found three red folders taped together.

Red folders in a CIA building? Must be something I'll get a laugh out of, I thought, so I took them. Inside, I found something that surprised me for the first time since my little discovery in the middle east. They had three folders dedicated solely to your sexual history, preferences, and masturbation habits." Now right here, I was pulling her leg, and yanking it pretty damn hard. I was hoping for a Refuge in Audacity kinda thing.

(Like teabagging a bear cub in front of it's mother. Only the sheer audacity of it would save you)

She blinked. Hard. Heavily. As in, her eyelids looked like they were made from concrete for a moment. "...Say what?" I could feel Dutch and Revy standing behind me, both of them collectively shitting themselves. I could garuntee that Dutch was going to filet me later, whereas Revy was probably going to buy me a drink for doing something so insanely stupid/audacious. That, or punch my lights out.

"I said, they had three folders filled with documentation of your sexual activity. Believe me, I didn't know whether to be greatly disturbed, or impressed. They had four pages listing every sex toy you ever purchased... Hell, they had a mathmetician that calculated how much they were used based on how often you purchased batteries. ...Kinda makes me wonder, if you work for the CIA, can you tell people they pay you to purchase vibrators and see how long a set of batteries lasts in each one? Simply to find out if a suspect is lonely?...Seriously? Yeesh, some people need to get a life..."

...For the first time, I saw the great Balalaika, legendary mafia head, look... Sheepish. And embarassed, oddly enough. But not angry? Not enraged? ...Damn.

She leaned her head down, groaning as she placed her head in her hand. "...Please tell you're just fucking with me."

Yessah! Woohoo! I made it! Pure, unadulterated audacity! Badass! Awesomesauce! As you can probably tell, on the inside, I was doing backflips, singing the national anthem, and praising the lord above for my psychology classes.

"..Unfortunately, no. Wouldn't worry about it too much. I destroyed 'em after I was done chuckling."

She moved right back to an upright position, slight blush or no. "Chuckling?"

Now... Heheheh. "Uh-huh. I may have burned ther evidence, but no non-lethal amount of brain-bleach can get rid of those images. Beyond that, I'm not saying a word."

She groaned slightly, taking a puff on her cigar. "Why did I get out of bed today..."

I perked right up. "Ah, don't worry about it. If it makes you feel better, Chang likes being tied up."

Now THAT got the reaction I wanted.

"Wait, what?" -Balalaika

"What?!" -Dutch

"What the fuck?!" -Revy

"..." Boris simply shook his head, no longer worried about a fight, but more worried about the kapitan having a stroke.

"...Oops. Should I not have said that?" I had this little grin, even as I tried my hardest not to bust out laughing.

"Are you making a joke?" Balalaika was doing well at trying not to smile. But I saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Not at all. There were accompanying pictures... Rather compromising ones. Ones that I wish I could get out of my head... I never knew one's spine could twist so far before... Brings a new meaning to the phrase 'human pretzel.' "

I heard Revy burst out laughing behind me, whereas Balalaika started chuckling. Though I suppose that's as much as I could hope for without pictures. ...Still, she was rather fetching with that blush... Older women usually aren't my thing, but damn... She was still very fine...

"Antics aside... You have a job for us? Preferably something non-dangerous?"

Amidst her older-woman giggles, she replied, "Non-dangerous? When you so clearly enjoy dancing with death?"

"Well yeah, 'cuz if I'm getting shot at on my first day, it kinda sets the bar for the rest of my employment."

From behind me, Dutch growled, "Which won't be very long if you keep scaring the shit outta me..." I just chuckled.

"Now can we please get to the job? Before Roy-boy here opens his damn mouth?" I was about to give him my little lecture, but I kept my trap shut to be polite. I'd tell him my petpeev later... But I didn't neglect to roll my eyes.

"Yes, on to that... You see, this is a very dangerous job, but I need it done quickly. You can accomplish this at minimal cost and risk. There is a certain ship that will be anchored a few miles outside the harbor late tonight... And they have something on-board that Hotel Moscow would like to have returned. A large attache case, roughly two feet long, silver in color."

"..So a simple snatch-n-grab. To be brought back here, right? (She nodded) How big is this ship we're talking about?"

"It's an oil tanker."

"...Say again? An oil tanker? And you want three people to find one case on it in one night?"

She waved off his concerns. "It should be in the captain's cabin. I'm more worried about what kind of security they have on board. We couldn't find any record of guards being hired, but better to be safe than sorry..."

"...And you can't send your men in because...?"

"I don't have any specialists in naval warfare. None aside from yourself, that is." ...Real fuckin likely...

"..Alright. What's the pay?"

"Eighty thousand."

"...Alright, that's more than generous for a walk-in, pick-up, and drop-off. What's the catch?"

She smiled. "The captain will fight tooth and nail for the case's contents. He must have people there to protect him..."

"...We just don't know how many. Fair enough. We'll take the job."

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

...And a few minutes later, we were walking out, heading back to the car. Once we were outside...

"Roy..." Dutch, of course.

"Yes?"

"Don't ever do something that stupid again." I snickered. (Yes, snickered. I snicker a lot.)

"Yeah, Chang's not as much fun to tease as Balalaika. He actually has a sense of humor! Oh yeah... By the way, don't call me Roy-boy, Roy-toy, or any amaglam of boy, toy, soy, coy, joy or McCoy. Or anything that rhymes. That's all I heard for six years straight, and I'm still sick of it."

"Huh. So long as you don't intentionally piss off people who are in a position to kill us, sure."

"I'll do my best, boss."

"Wait. You're telling me you did all that... Just to tease Balalaika?" -Revy, of course.

"For shits and giggles, yes."

"...And that was all true?" Dutch's ears perked up, ready to hear my answer to her query.

"More or less." ...Oh, I could feel their stares on my back... Heheheh.

"...You were bullshitting the entire time?" I turned and grinned.

"Refuge in audacity, my friend. I walked in with an inch... But I left with a mile."

...Their expressions were stuck between shock, awe, and irritation.

Quite frankly, I'm amazed we all walked out without me having to decapitate blondie while shooting her Silent Bob bodyguard.

Though I admit, I'd relish a chance for a true warzone... To exist only to swing my blade, to live only by killing... To know nothing but bloodshed, killing until the day I die... At least it would be simple. No intricate lies, deceptions, or complicated emotions...

*Sigh...*

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

Back with Balalaika, right after Roy and company left...

"Comrade sergeant..." Balalaika was still sitting at her desk, cigar hanging from her lips, looking haggard.

"Ma'am?" He turned towards her, expression blank.

"That conversation never happened."

"What conversation, ma'am?" He deadpanned. She smiled, turning towards him.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

Aaaand we were back in the car, heading back to the office. With both of them wondering if I was some sort of psychology god or something. I sat back, relaxing, enjoying their expressions of shock and awe. I almost felt smug enough to reach over the seat, snatch Revy's cigarette from her mouth and kick my feet up on her headrest. Almost, almost... Heheh.

Well, we rode back to the office in silence...

No, really, we did. I didn't say a word. Didn't wanna disrupt that aura of pure badass I had goin'... All I was missing was the cigar and 5 O'clock shadow.

...And trench coat. But it was bloody hot, and I'd get one soon enough. Soon enough.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

We got back to the same parking lot. After I got out and shut the door, following Dutch back to the office, Revy fell into step beside me. Practically buzzing with an unvoiced question, it has to be said.

I cut the tension with a battle-axe. "Yeah? You got something on your mind, Two-Hand?"

"How'd you do that? Balalaika's one of the scariest people in Roanapur, yet you practically gave her a mental breakdown in the span of a few minutes."

I smiled. "Confidance, strength of character, playing on the weaknesses of being human, and a damn good hunch."

"Are you some sorta super-psychologist or something?"

I grinned my innocent grin. "Not at all... What gave you that idea? I'm just a common mercenary..."

"...You're younger than I am. But you talk like an old man. Ya sound like you're Balalaika's age." Her expression was pretty sardonic.

"Hm... Well, I am older than I look... Though that's not saying much. I'm just an old killer and nothing more."

"Yeah, yeah, old man..." She rolled her eyes while saying this, just so you know.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

We got back to the office, heading up the stairs and inside. Once inside the apartment, Dutch went over to the fridge, getting a beer from inside.

"So, either of you got any suggestions?" *Puh-ktchsh...* (Sound of popping the top of a can)

I shrugged. Revy piped up. "Get close with the boat, take the zodiac out and grapple our way on. Then we grab some poor schmuck and take a lighter to his balls till he tells us where the captain is, we grab the skipper, grill him, get the case, walk away with eighty grand."

I grinned. "Simple, yet elegant. I like it."

I reached under my jacket, doing a quick ammo-check. One mag in the gun, four on my holster, four more on my belt, two on each leg, plus another five in my bag...

That makes... 144 rounds. Hm. More than enough.

After that, I felt around for my emergency pouch on my belt; it contained several large pen-shaped injectors. Three were filled with GO-Juice, (Adrenaline extract, stimulants, clotting factors, and painkillers. It'll keep you going for at least eight hours of straight combat. You won't drop until you're dead) and two more with antivenom, which was a general cure-all for snake, bug, and spider bites. Not perfect, but it would hold you over long enough to get proper medical attention.

After that, I felt around in my proteus, making sure everything inside was in place and intact. Med-kit, check. Water bottle, check. Paracord, check. fire-starting kit, check. Det gear, check. Sapper kit, check. Food tabs, check. Painkillers, check. Stimulants, check. Extra injectors, check. Sharpening stone, check. Gun kit, check. Water-proof container, check. Batteries, headset, check. Hygene bag, check. Wallet, double-check. Okay... What else...

I felt something...

...They were staring at me. "What? Did I grow a second head I'm not aware of?"

"That's some pretty fancy gear for a common mercenary..." I snorted a short laugh.

"Well, I worked for Blackwater. They gave us leeway to carry whatever gear we liked, and gave us a stipend to spend on armor, weapons, gear, and whatever we needed to get our asses out alive. I got lucky. As squad leader, I got to dictate how much was spent on what. Needless to say, more was spent on combat equipment than meals. We subsisted on MRE's for our deployment, but our gear never choked up on us. I got lucky again to get out with what I have... Didn't even get time to grab my bloody toothbrush." (Yay, Mass Effect shout-out)

"Sounds nice..."

"It was. Only reason I'm here is 'cuz I stuck my nose in something I shouldn't've, and pissed off Uncle Sam. Ah, well. No use complaining about it, ya? Just gotta keep puttin' one foot in front of the other..."

"Now you really sound like an old man..."

"Well, at least you can't call me a dirty old man!" Cue big grin, showing off my pearly whites.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_"What have you heard? That bad guys would rather confess than be interrogated by him? That his steely gaze can cool a room by five degrees? That he can only be killed by a silver bullet, like a werewolf? They're all true, except for the silver bullet part. Might give him indigestion or heartburn, but I don't think it'd kill him. Any other questions?"_  
— **Tony DiNozzo** on **Gibbs**, NCIS

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_"Your species has the most amazing capacity for self-deception, matched only by its ingenuity when trying to destroy itself."_

— **The Seventh Doctor**, Doctor Who

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

Merc: This is a shortened version of the word "Mercenary," meaning soldier-for-hire. It is a noun. The next time I hear someone say the phrase, "Imma merc yo ass!" I am going to introduce my boot to their colon. Merc is a noun! A fucking noun! It is not a synonym for punch/harm/kill! Get it right you dumbfuck sons'a bitches!

Example: "Where are all these mercs comin' from? Is this guy a fuckin' millionaire?"

BAD example: "I'm gonna merc yo ass!" -This does not compute. I will make a gay joke out of it and taunt you. Then I will strangle you till you turn blue in the face. After that, I will ensure your face gets real friendly with the ground. Repeatedly, and intimately.

Remember this. Otherwise...

My boot + Your ass = Pain. Much, much pain. And a very embarassing visit with your proctologist.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

A proctologist walked into a bank. Preparing to endorse a check, he pulled a rectal thermometer out of his shirt pocket and tried to write with it. Realizing his mistake, he looked at the thermometer with annoyance and said, "Well that's great, just great! Some asshole's got my pen!"


	3. Chapter 3 Rewrite continued!

**The Crimson Lagoon**

**Guess Who's Back?**

My standard form of writing applies.

" " - Spoken

' ' - Thought

( ) - Commentary. I'm a smartass. You should know what goes here. My smartass commentary. Usually funny, always interesting.

_Italics- _Usually things of importence. Flashbacks and certain things are in italics to seperate them from the rest of the story.

**Bold!- **Things like **this** are things that just stand out. Usually pretty badass.

Underlined words are oddball parts; this is for generic seperation of a variety of things. Lyrics, notes, other languages, sign language, ect.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

#3 LET'S ROCK! **REDONE AND RE-UP'D, AGAIN!**

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

And so... We sat around, swapping ideas, prepping gear, (I was checking over my gun. I pulled it apart, double-checked the springs, made sure the taclight worked, perfectly, ensured the mainspring housing was fitted properly, lubed the internals, ran a snake through the bore, ect) the other two were doing the same. Dutch went into a back room I hadn't noticed, and came back with a Marine Magnum 870, along with two boxes of 12 guage shells. Three-inch combat buckshot, if I wasn't mistaken. Damned fine CQC munitions.

Of course, Revy didn't bother checking her handguns; she probably did before leaving her apartment. She did, however, take note of my handgun.

"Huh. Fancy gun for a merc." She tilted her head back, taking a swig from another beer.

"S'not mine," I grunted, taking a closer look at the grips. Think there was a scatch on one...

"Oh? A thief and a merc? ...Hey if you're on the run, why the hell didn't you just sell the thing? Wilson Combat guns're worth quite a bit." Hm. The finish on the slide is showing slight holster wear, these days. Well, that's the price of using leather holsters... Still. The finish has held up pretty well, considering how long I've been using it.

"I didn't steal it. It used to belong to an old friend... Before she passed. And it still holds sentimental value to me, so I've no intention of hawking it to someone who doesn't even know the meaning behind the words inscribed in its surface." tch, uppity little bitch. She doesn't even recognise their significance?

"And just what DO they mean, O swammi?" She rolled her eyes, taking another hit of her beer. My eye twitched.

"Funny, kid_. For the sins of the father... On the blood of the son... For the blood on my hands..._ For the wrongdoing of those who came before me, for the spilt blood of my kin, and for those I have killed to get where I am now... I can never give up, never give in, and never back down, or all their sacrifice will have been for nothing. It is my blessing, it is my curse; to move ever onward to tomorrow, regardless of my own will._"_

"I'm older than you, asshole. What're you, a poet or a romantic?" Her voice was less insulting, and more bored, disinterested, half-hearted curiosity.

"Neither. I'm an old killer and nothing more... Sarah was the romantic. Her creed became mine when she died to save my sorry ass." That bitterness in my heart is still there... Even after so much time has passed.

"Sarah? And just who the hell was that?" Her ears perked up, interested in hearing a bit of gossip, apparently. Eh.

"My friend, lover, and assassin." In that order, too. though she was still my lover after the assassination bit, truth be told. Then she died. The end.

She parroted again."...Assassin?"

"Yeah. Seeing as I'm still here and she's not, I'm sure you can infer what happened."

"...Guess you got the gloves from her, too, then." She snarked, taking another drink.

...?

Once again, I blinked. "My gloves...? Uh, okay..." Where the fuck did that come from?

"Black leather gloves? In this heat? That just screams wetworker. All you're missing is the suit and tie."

...Huh. I'd never thought of them that way... But they are pretty badass. Completely silent... The hands of death. Heheheh.

"...Not really liking that smile..." I promptly blinked again. Whoops. I accidentally let my psycho-killer grin emerge.

I morphed my grin/grimace into my happy-go-lucky idiot grin. "What smile?"

...She wasn't buying it. Eh.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

Well, after our little bout, and I'd finished cleaning my gun, I set about starpening my knife while we discussed what we were going to do. Split up, stay together, go loud, go soft... Ect.

"I still say we just go in, grab the nearest schmuck and find out where the captain is." Revy.

"Easy enough, but what do you suggest we do after getting that? And after finding the captain?" -Dutch.

"I can handle that well enough. We drop the sucker off the edge once he talks, then sneak through the place until we get to the skipper, and after that, grab the case. From there, we'll try getting out quietly... If that doesn't pan right, we'll shoot our way out and back to the zodiac. If all else fails, we jump off the nearest edge and start doggy-paddling to the boat, if the inflatable is unavailable. The ship's too large for us to split up, especially if we don't want to risk detection, what with Revy's itchy fingers." I swear I saw a vein in her temple throb. This was confirmed when she flipped me off.

"Up yours."

"That aside... Balalaika said there was no record of them hiring security."

"Uh, boss, that's a euphemism for 'they hired guys who don't exist.' " Revy and Dutch both raised an eyebrow.

"Guys that don't exist?" I nodded.

"Men and women like me. People whose identity, no, their entire existance has been erased. Can't have a record of people who don't have an account, business, or social, right? Usually former spec-ops who got enlisted for some of the less-than-ethical dealings of civil governments. They turn into ghosts with pagers that happen to be on the white house speed dial."

Dutch's eyes widened, but he gave a slow nod. "Ah... Invisible soldiers abandoned by their respective governments. This could be bad..." Revy looked between the two of us.

"Huh? What's so bad about GI's that got kicked to the curb?" ...She still didn't get it.

"Rebecca, when your own gov't says you don't exist, you either fucked up pretty damn bad, or you did something for them that borders on genocide. The first type disappears, goes under the radar. The second... Those are real professionals. Guys on par with Balalaika's own men, or even better. They're still alive because they're too useful to kill, and too much of a pain in the ass to hunt down, besides. The most common is what we in the business call a K; deniable operators."

Again, she blinked, parroting, "Deniable operators?" I sighed. Simpleton...

"Yes. Just as it says; they're deniable. They are deep-cover agents, and do bad things to gain the enemy's trust. If they're caught, their mother government will disavow any knowledge of them, disgrace their name, their family, and put them down in history as horrendous traitors. Remember this, Revy; history is written by the victor."

"Well put. Truth is just a matter of perspective..." Dutch cut in with this, so you know.

"...And to us, the only perspective that matters, is our own. Everything else is a lie."

Now Revy cut in. "Will you two old men quit philosophising? We're supposed to be planning, not swapping mantras."

I chuckled. "Fair enough. We'll go in soft, and try to leave that way. We gut the captain before leaving, to cover our tracks. You got anything bigger than those on the boat, Revy?" I asked her, indicating the guns she was carrying. (Not her breasts. Though they were moderately sized... Heheheh... I could just imagine my schlong engulfed in those lovely mounds of... Errr... Better not go there. Don't wanna get distracted...)

"Yeah, plenty... You better not be starin' at my tits..." Whoops! Heheheh... My penis got the better of me for a second there.

Still, I deadpanned. "Of course not. I was wondering if you twisted the grip on one of those... Do you have a habit of pistol-whipping people?" Of course, she blanched.

"Gah! What're you, the old man's echo?!" I simply smiled my tranquil killer's smile. (Stepford smirk, as it were)

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

...Well, we waited a good while... Too damn long to me. I was bored outta my skull, flipping my Gil Hibbon and waiting. My knife was sharp as a razor, and my tanto was ALWAYS honed to an edge finer than a flea's testicles.

Believe you me, it was sharp. After it got well dark out, Dutch stood up, stubbing out his cigarette. "Alright. Let's move."

He started for the door, Revy right on his heels, myself falling into step behind them...

...This was either gonna be fun as hell, or a living nightmare.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

Well, we went back to the same parking lot, piled into the GTO, and Dutch drove us out, towards the harbor. Again, I was in the back, but I spent my time double-checking my gear; making sure my vest was hidden under my shirt, ammo was properly situated, knives were locked in place, trauma kit was stocked, and that all the snaps and velcro were held tight.

Once all that was done, I pulled my 1911 out and unloaded it, before pulling it apart. Once I checked that over, I reassembled it, before loading the mag, chambering a round and flicking on the safety, dropping the mag again and topping it off with another round.

Holstering it, I pulled my arms up and leaned forward, placing my elbows on my knees, my hands hiding my expression from view. ...It looks pretty damn badass. All I was missing was the cigar and eyepatch.

...Eh, a five'O'clock shadow would also help, but I always shaved meticulously. It made meals more pleasant, and most women hated the feeling of making out with a grizzly. Plus it was habit. It made me look younger, which helped in my old line of work.

...Well, digressions aside, Revy was oddly quiet. It was kindof unsettling... Then again, quiet women are much more enjoyable. They don't talk your damn ear off about shopping, clothes, shoes, gossip and blah, blah blah blah blah... Yeesh, shut da hell up already. (You girls want guys to like you more? Don't talk their ears off. If they look bored, they probably are. We're not all that complicated, ladies. If they're finding your breasts more interesting than your eyes, you're boring them. Or they're horny. It's a toss up as to which)

Moving on, it was maybe a twenty minute drive. We arrived at a warehouse, where Dutch proceded to park us right outside of it. After climbing out, I checked the chamber of my gun, double-checked the safety, and followed just behind them, scanning the area around us for threats... (Can never be too careful)

Dutch unlocked the door with a key he pulled from his vest, before he walked right in. Revy was behind him, and I was on her heels. Inside was... Well, it looked like your average harbor warehouse. (Basically a large metal barn that is set on top of a cutout in the sidewalk that is flooded. There was a large sliding door on the far side, presumably where we would exit the warehouse from) Concrete walkways, and the _Lagoon _was in the water, not twenty feet away.

I followed Revy's lead, who was following Dutch, and he walked right over to where the boat was. He hopped on, the watercraft barely shifting at all from his added weight. Now, the boat itself... It was a vintage, antique WW2 PT boat. This one was made from armored steel, I assumed, since it was metal instead of wood. It looked like it'd had many retrofits over the years... Notably the torpedo tubes and metal hull.

Revy was about to hop on, when Dutch called, "Cast us off! One of you get those doors open!" The moment his voice was heard, Revy groaned. She moved towards the nearest cleat and started untying the rope. I was already moving towards the far end of the warehouse, moving for the handle for pulling the gate open.

Revy had started to yell at me to get the door open, but I was already there. Kinda fun to make her feel stupid for turning right, when I was already to her far, far left. Well, the gate was definately starting to rust, but I dragged it open, turned and moved back towards where Revy was starting to untie the second line.

I hopped onto the boat, took a few steps from the edge, turned and waited. Took her only a few moments, but she had the rope undone before she stood and tossed it onto the boat, before jumping on herself.

I called out, "We're clear, boss!" And as if on cue, I could feel the engines growl into life, the entire deck rumbling. It felt good to be on a ship again...

...But my little moment was interrupted before it even started. I was promptly gibsmacked by Revy, who made some smartass remark. "Now's not the time to be reminiscing, dumbass."

Despite the extreme urge to simply say, 'Oops' and 'accidentally' shove her into the drink, I made do with simply rolling my eyes. "Yara, yara... Leave us old men be, Rebecca." She gave me a half-glare.

"How d'ya even know my name? You some kinda fuckin' stalker?" Again, I rolled my eyes.

"I'm a fawkin' mind-reader. Get over it." ...And again, my oddball accent came out to play.

"What're you, Irish?" We were moving towards the cabin door, Dutch already getting us underway.

"...Lady, even I don't know what I am. I was raised by several different members of my extended family, and every one of 'em had a different dialect. My speech patterns were fucked from the very beginning." (Basically American with a very slight Irish lilt, along with British slang, cuss, and rude dialect. No one can ever tell what I am unless I tell)

She shook her head but had no comment.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

Once inside the cabin, I saw Dutch was already smoking. Revy copped one of his American Spirits, before lighting up herself. As they did so, I leaned against the bulkhead, waiting.

After taking a hit, she spoke. "So Dutch.. Where's this tanker supposed to be anchored?"

I then noticed one of the differences I don't remember... There was a radar monitor set up on the right-hand side of the main console, right in front of the copilot seat. There was a map laid out on the console next to the monitor. Dutch reached over and tapped a part of the map, where a black 'X' was placed.

"Right there... Roughly thirty miles out. It'll take us about twenty-five minutes to get within range of the inflatable. After that... Hm. I don't like leaving the Lagoon unattended, but we don't have much choice." Hmm... I threw in my two cents.

"Dunno, Boss. It'd be poor judgement to leave the new guy to hold the fort, but even worse to leave our only method out ripe for the taking. Do you want Revy and I to go it alone? Might be harder, but with you back here, we have a contingency if shit hits the fan." I jerked a thumb towards the torpedo tubes.

"True enough... Revy, you up for that?" Of course, she boasted.

"Tch, a'course I am. I'm just worried the rookie here will go and piss himself when the lead starts flying..." I just rolled my eyes.

"Well, that's why you're there, Revy. To carry my spare pants while I do all the work."

...Of course, this started a mini-arguement which ended with Dutch saying, "I will turn this boat around if you two don't shut up!" Of course, I laughed at his humor, but Revy took the opportunity to flip me off and stick her tongue out. I smiled and flashed her the V's. (British version of flipping someone off. She didn't get it)

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

So, I moved a bit away from where Dutch was piloting and Revy was loitering, plopped my ass on the floor, and reached into a pocket in my jacket. I pulled out my Ipod and skullcandies, plugging in. (One of the newer model classic ones. Color screen, held a hundred gigs. And completely full, I'm sorry to say... I brought a few large USB memory sticks as back up in case it got fried or stolen, so I could load my songs onto a computer and reformat the thing if need be)

Closing my eyes, nodding my head, I gave in to the beat, and almost unconsciencely started murmuring the words to myself...

"War, huh, yeah  
What is it good for?  
Absolutely nothing  
Uh-huh  
War, huh, yeah  
What is it good for?  
Absolutely nothing  
Say it again, y'all

War, huh, good God  
What is it good for?  
Absolutely nothing  
Listen to me

Ohhh, war, I despise  
Because it means destruction  
Of innocent lives

War means tears  
To thousands of mothers eyes  
When their sons go to fight  
And lose their lives

I said, war, huh  
Good God, y'all...  
What is it good for?  
Absolutely nothing  
Say it again, y'all..."  
(**WAR, by Edwin Starr. I don't own it, Apple, nor Skullcandy**)

...I was off in my own little la-la land of mentally psyching myself up for another op, for another slaughter... Getting ready to pull the trigger once more.

...When I could practically feel someone staring at me. I cracked one eye and observed as Revy stood there, shellshocked, whereas Dutch was gaping.

"...What?"

Revy blinked, and Dutch just shook his head, turning back to driving the boat.

"Y-you.. You can sing...!" I blinked.

"Yeah... And?" She sighed, dejectedly.

"...Just surprised. You're not the karaoke type."

I shrugged. "And you're not the type to enjoy a strawberry daiquiri. But I bet you do." Her jaw dropped, nearly hitting the floor.

"H-how did you?!" I simply smiled, plugging my earbuds back in.

"The fawkin' mind-reader, remember?"

...Her expression could never be described in a short conversation, but I was pleased. Greatly.

Heheheheh.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

A proctologist walked into a bank. Preparing to endorse a check, he pulled a rectal thermometer out of his shirt pocket and tried to write with it. Realizing his mistake, he looked at the thermometer with ire and said, "Well that's great, just great! Some asshole's got my pen!"

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

"Vault Dweller**:** I am the bringer of death. Fall to your knees and beg for mercy... Or give me a sandwich; I'm pretty hungry." -From Fallout

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

**BLU Scout**: Big deal. I've killed plenty of spies. They're dime a dozen back stabbing scumbags. Like you! _*hits self with knife* _Ow! No offense...  
**BLU Spy**: If you managed to kill them I assure you they were not like me. And nothing! Nothing like the man loose inside this building!  
**BLU Scout**: What're you, president of his fan club?  
**BLU Spy**: No. That would be YOUR MOTHER! _*produces pictures of the RED Spy and the Scout's mother... fraternizing._  
**BLU Scout**: What the... Howdidhe... Oough...  
**BLU Spy**: Indeed. And now he's here to fuck US! So listen up, boy! Or pornography starring your mother will only be the _second worst thing_ that happens to you today.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_In America, you can always find a party.  
In Russia, the Party always finds YOU!_ —**Yakov Smirnoff, Russian Comedian**

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

**In Romania, you snuff children. In Roanapur, children snuff YOU!** -A Russian reversal joke.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_**...Seeing pornography starring one's own mother becoming the second worst thing to happen? Damn. Make sure you never encounter whoever is the top worst thing.**_


	4. Chapter 4 Pretty much the same

**The Crimson Lagoon**

**Guess Who's Back?**

My standard form of writing applies.

" " - Spoken

' ' - Thought

( ) - Commentary. I'm a smartass. You should know what goes here. My smartass commentary. Usually funny, always interesting.

_Italics- _Usually things of importence. Flashbacks and certain things are in italics to seperate them from the rest of the story.

**Bold!- **Things like **this** are things that just stand out. Usually pretty badass.

Underlined-words are oddball parts; this is for generic seperation of a variety of things. Lyrics, notes, other languages, sign language, ect.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

#5. Into the future... Kindof. Revy is speaking with Rock at the bar, over drinks. He is coherent, but still a bit drunk. Revy is obviously inebriated, not quite slurring her words, but won't be walking a straight line anytime soon.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

_This takes place during the canon Black Lagoon events, some time after the events of "Calm Down, Two Men." _

_After an unspecified event, Roy disappeared. This occurred shortly before the crew got acquainted with Rokuro Okajima, whereupon he joined the Lagoon._

_Two months, he's been with them... And I have been calmly watching from the shadows..._

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

As she slammed back another shot of rum, Revy let out a sigh. It was Thursday night, roughly two months since Rock had joined the crew of the Lagoon. Both he and Revy were staying late at the Yellow Flag, after Dutch and Benny had retired for the night.

Even in the short time they'd been together, Rock knew this was not normal for her. She sounded... Dejected, remorseful... depressed. He knew it would be near-fatal to ask her what was wrong, but his inhibitions and self-preservation instincts were a bit... Loose, considering the four tumblers of bacardi he's had.

Looking at the deranged gunwoman, he couldn't keep his mouth in check. "Revy? Is something wrong?" Normally, she'd smack him over the head and chastise him for thinking her 'weak.'

...But not this time. She looked up at him, her eyes only slightly glazed. For a moment, she considered her next action... But instead of clocking him, she spoke.

"What's it t'you?" She was still curt, but lacked her usual venom and enthusiasm. Oddly encouraged, Rock continued, despite his already-growing apprehension.

"You're actually sighing over drinks, like a dejected schoolgirl. Doesn't seem like something a dead-hard pirate would be doing." Rock was now expecting her to jam one of her pistols against his head and casually threaten his life/wellbeing/genitals, but the feeling of cold steel against his temple never came.

"What, you calling me a schoolgirl now? And here I was the one threatenin' to put you in a dress a couple'a months ago..." She sounded annoyed, probably not enthused to be reminded of him keeping up with her in a drinking contest.

But her next statement shocked him.

"...I must look pathetic now, huh..." Rock blinked. Say what?

He... Chose his next words carefully. "Compared to your usual trigger-happy self... Yeah. What's the matter?"

She looked away from him, and directly at Bao, who was conveniently nearby, drying off a glass he had been washing. He was as much a fixture here as the stools and the bar itself, so he already knew what her issue was. She had drank herself stupid more than once over it. He took her look as a signal to bring over the really good stuff.

After seeing Bao scurry off to find some suitable drinks, she looked back at Rock...

"If you laugh, I will kill you." Oh, Rock knew she was liable to kill him anyway, but he didn't much care about that at the moment...

"Of course. I'll do my best not to." She scrutinized his expression for a moment...

"...It's because of a man." ...The corner of his mouth twitched.

"So the great Two-Hand Revy is actually human. Shocker." If not for his encouraging smile and gentle non-mocking tone, she'd've shot him then and there. Hell, if she were sober, she'd shoot him anyway.

"Yeah... So we all are..." Bao returned, carrying two bottles of his 'Finest,' along with a tumbler.

He set them down in front of Revy, turned, and made himself scarce. Smart guy.

"So what actually happened? Knowing you, it was probably more complicated than _'He left me for someone else_.'" As Revy picked up the nearest bottle, she popped the cork and poured herself a glass before draining it, refilling as she answered.

"He did something stupid. Saved me an' Dutch in the process. Didn't quite get himself killed... But he disappeared."

His head tilted. "He must have been important to you."

It was soft... Rock could barely hear it... But she replied... "...He still is..."

...An individual on the other side of the room shifted, a trench coat keeping their form hidden from view as they nursed a rum and coke. There were less than half a dozen people in the bar, including Rock, Revy, Bao, and the stranger. All of them heavy drinkers, all of them having a reason to drink their existance away.

Rock politely pretended not to hear that last bit, taking a sip of his drink. "So how do you know he's still around, if he disappeared?"

In response, she reached over and drew one of her cutlasses. Rock thought his time had finally come, and that he'd crossed the line one too many times. His life was flashing before his eyes, when she said, "This. He took it with him before he knocked me out... And I never saw him again. A week after the incident, I came home to find it on my pillow." She reholstered her gun, and Rock relaxed again, as did Bao.

...But she never mentioned the note... No... She never told anyone what had been written on the memo he left for her.

Just thinking of it... She started chugging what was left in her glass, before refilling and repeating the action.

From that moment onward, the rest of the night was nothing but a blindingly bright blur of color...

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

...After the fifth glass of that stuff Bao brought, Rock just knew that he'd wind up having to carry Revy home. And he was half right.

Except he was too drunk, and lacked the strength to carry her half a block, let alone all the way back to her apartment. She was currently lazing on the bar, drunk as a skunk drowned in bourbon.

He didn't have to think on this for too long, since a massive man in a trench coat came over. At first, Rock was worried, since this guy was easily as tall as Dutch, and even more bulked out.

"Hey, kid, you got a way to get drunkelina home?" Rock was slightly confused, since even through his alchohol-befuddled mind he sounded... concerned.

"Err, not really."

The man raised an eyebrow. He had a deadeye scar across his left eye... Somehow, it fit him.

"Oy, Bao! You got a free room upstairs for these two?" Of course, Bao reappeared as if he'd never left.

"Yeah. S'eighty bucks a night."

The big guy nodded, pulling a hundred from the confines of his coat. He handed it to the vietnam veteran, accepting the room key in return. "Gotcha. C'mon, kid, before she passes out and becomes deadweight."

The man grasped Revy's left arm, pulling it over his shoulder, and lifting the giggling drunk off her stool.

As Rock got up, he noted that the man needed no help carrying Revy, and instead focused on figuring out their tab.

Bao waved him off. "Don't worry about it. I'll collect in the afternoon when you're both sober."

He thanked the bartender, and moved to catch up with the man carrying his coworker.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

It took a few moments, but he got her into the room, closely followed by the japanese businessman.

The room was simple. A queen-sized bed, nightstand with a lamp next to it, and a bucket on the floor next to the bed. It was right above a bar, after all.

The larger of the two man carried Revy over to the bed, setting her down. Considering she was completely smashed, she had been oddly quiet, looking a bit loopy.

Once he had her on the bed, he knelt down and removed her boots, tossing them over next to the night stand, before sliding her holster off and placing it on the small table.

While he worked, Rock looked around the room with apprehension. "Umm.. Only one bed...? I don't mean to be ingrateful, but I don't exactly want to die the moment she wakes up."

The big guy chuckled, standing up. "I can safely say that's not my problem, Rock. So long as you leave her clothes on and keep your own pants where they are, you'll be fine."

He turned, walking towards the door, but stopped next to Rock.

"I wish you luck, kid. Be gentle with her; she's a lot more fragile than she looks." He patted the japanese man's shoulder reassuringly, and walked out, leaving Rock standing there wondering just who that guy was.

With a shrug, he figured he'd think it through in the morning... When he was sober.

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_

He shut the door, locked it, removed his shoes and tie, untucked his shirt and moved over to the bed.

Revy was just lying there, glazed eyes staring at the door.

"Revy? You alright?"

...No answer. He sighed, sitting on the bed. When she shot upward, glomping on him in a bear hug.

"Guahh! Wha-?!" What happened next... He did not expect. She sobbed into his shoulder.

"Th-tha...That was him! I-I shwear it wasch..."

Rock blinked. In her drunken state, she'd mistaken a kind stranger for the man she loved... Right?

"It's okay, Revy... You're drunk. C'mon, let me go and just lie down... You'll be able to think clearly in the morning."

She had been steadily pulling on him, dragging him down until he was lying on the bed with her on top of his chest, tears soaking his shirt.

"Noooo... Why... Why can't I jusht forget 'bout 'im... Why can't he jusht... Mmgrlp! Urrghl- Bleeaaagghh...!"

...She then threw up on him, just to top off the end of his day, before snuggling against his chest and falling asleep.

'Why... Why, god, must you do this to me...?'

...His question went unanswered.

"Well... At least she didn't headbutt me in the crotch..."

_**~~Badadumdunbum~~**_


End file.
